RAMAFIA
by Akky-chan
Summary: Mob member Arthur Kirkland is saved by two young children in an alley and decides to repay them, a decision that changes the lives of his whole Mob; AU, rated for themes, GenBending, multi protagonists, multi pairings
1. Pilot Episode

_RAMAFIA _

Episode 1: Pilot  
(episode summary: Mob member Arthur Kirkland is saved from vengeful family members of his last hit by two young children in an alley and decides to repay them, a decision that changes the lives of his whole Mob; genre: action/drama/comedy/romance; status: new )

Arthur Kirkland was well known for having a temperamental streak. He was known for being cunning, deceitful and for all the while believing himself to be a gentleman. He was known, also, for having the mouth, and more importantly, liver of a sailor.

He reflected, after a moment of dodging behind trashcans, that doing a hit while drunk hadn't been one of his best moves. Oh, sure, he'd gotten it done, but he'd been a little messy while doing it.

Well, he was never particularly good at cleanup, so he tried to make the kill itself as clean as he could, and he'd utterly failed in this instance.

Next time he would hopefully remember that dancing naked around his victim's room shouting out last night's football (_soccer_, for the uninitiated) scores and trashing the home for cigarettes and _more_ booze was a bad idea. Though, his memory while intoxicated had proven to be slightly faulty.

He could recall one time he'd sexed up a rather attractive woman once, only to wake up next to the bartender, twice his size in pink heart boxers.

He could've _sworn_ those boxers had been black satin undies with frills.

Regardless of the reliability of his memory while intoxicated, Arthur was now quite sober. As he was quite sober, he was also aware that he did not want to be caught by the group of people chasing him.

Okay, so it was a group of three people, but one of them was carrying a lead pipe for crying out loud! Where did he even _get_ a lead pipe in this day and age? Hadn't lead been outlawed after that one city was wiped out?

Arthur turned sharply into an alley, which may not have been yet another of his not-the-smartest moves as ever since the ground room ran out and cities began being built up any abandoned roads had been swallowed into an extensive alleyway-labyrinth.

Arthur, admittedly, did not know this labyrinth very well, and his pursuers were following him adamantly.

He dodged around corners and farther and farther into the alleys until his lungs ached and he was able to round turns without seeing them for a time. Knowing he couldn't continue running, Arthur rounded another sharp turn and quite suddenly tossed himself into an open-topped dumpster.

For a full minute, he stayed still, partially covered in trash and not daring to breath for the smell while rapid footsteps passed him by.

He held his breath a while longer until he knew they were surely gone, then let out a slow and deep exhale, relieved.

"Bloody hell…" He muttered, sitting himself up. The garbage, which probably had been there for months, shifted around him. Swatting some scrap metals out of his hair and an empty (synthetic) bag off his shoulder, he heard a small noise.

A squeak, in fact.

Looking over, he found himself face to face with a large, white rat.

Arthur restrained a shocked shout that would have sounded quite effeminate and instead of swatting it away, found himself in a stare-down with the creature.

He supposed he was in an alleyway, after all.

"Er… hello there, little rat…" His hangover must've still been affecting him, talking to a rat! "Sorry, I suppose I landed on your home? …right, I'll just… shut up and go now."

With a grunt he hoisted himself over the side of the dumpster and back onto the pavement. For a time, he simply stared left and right, knowing he had to get back out of there somehow but having no idea how to do it.

Finally, he sighed and walked the way he'd originally come, hoping there was no loop-about that would bring him face-to-face again with his pursuers.

As he walked away, his previously pressed suit now ruffled and shined shoes clicking hypnotically on the pavement, he neglected to notice the white rat had climbed out of the dumpster to the hands of two young boys behind the metal waste-collector.

Their four eyes followed him in shock until he was out of view.

000

There _was_ a loop-about that took him face to face again with his pursuers. Well goddamn.

There were three people, a tall, strong man with the lead pipe, a middle-sized girl who looked as though she might prefer to rip his face off with her bare hands rather than use a weapon, and a midget who looked up to helping her.

Did Arthur ever mention he'd utterly hated the circus when he was younger? Because he did. He still hated it. Partially because they were chasing him with a lead pipe, but aside from that,_ it was a goddamn circus!_

He'd tried to run again, but was still tired from the previous pursuit. The midget had tripped him and he'd rolled somewhere to the left just in time to escape a lead pipe to the ribcage. This didn't help him avoid the feet that were just as content to kick him anywhere within distance.

Arthur had probably gained a black eye (from a _boot_) and highly suspected he'd broken something before he managed back onto his feet, buying time from a lucky punch to the man's crotch. He felt around frantically for his gun, hoped it hadn't been kicked off somewhere and hoped also, somewhat vainly, that they wouldn't have a gun of their own.

The mid-sized girl was the one who decided to crush that little dream, stepping over her curled-up male comrade and pulling a gun out of the side of her coat.

She opened her mouth to say something, most likely along the lines of 'we've got you now', when a pearl necklace out of nowhere wrapped around her neck and began choking her.

The midget, who had been to Arthur's right, was distracted at his comrades choking sounds and paid for it with the gun Arthur discovered to have been kicked off him to several feet behind himself.

The pearl necklace which had been turning the woman's face red released at the sound of the gunshot as though shocked at the noise, and the woman turned round to wrap her own hands around the neck of a child.

Arthur blinked, raised his gun without a second thought and fired.

The boy fell back and held his own throat, taking deep breaths. Arthur approached him, slowly, as he recalled, getting a feeling slightly akin to that of approaching a wild animal and wondered vaguely if this was what it was like staring down a baby wild boar.

He'd either still had that hangover or had read _far_ too many old adventure books as a child.

The child was blond with short, matted hair and bright blue eyes. He was wearing a tattered brown jacket and a scrap of cloth wrapped around his neck, which he was still holding in his hands, and he thought it looked suspiciously like a replacement for a scarf, despite winter having passed already.

The boy was on his knees, looking up at him as he came closer. The blood of the woman had splattered on him. There were bruises on his face.

Out of nowhere, a second child seemed to spring out and grabbed the first one, hauling him to his feet and helping him run in the opposite direction.

"Hey, wait!" Arthur yelled when the tall man, whom he'd temporarily (_temporarily!_) forgotten about returned to his feet, came up behind him and attempted to squeeze him to death.

Arthur wasted another bullet before racing after the children who'd caused the distraction that saved his life.

In his defense, in addition to his tempter, potty mouth and worse liver, Arthur considered himself a gentleman of the highest caliber. Unbeknownst to him, this was hardly true, but he felt he had an obligation to thank people who aided him, regardless of status or youth.

He wasn't quite sure why he was running even deeper into the allies to do it, but he was.

000

Alfred had thought he was going to die.

No, he actually hadn't. He knew he'd be perfectly fine the whole time. He was invincible, Mattie had told him himself!

…denial was obviously his strong point, as he had been utterly petrified of the tall stranger who he'd saved on a whim. The man had not swiped at or yelled at Kuma, but apologized and then spoken to him (though not for very long) just as he and Mattie did.

No one who spoke to Kuma like that could be bad, right?

But people with the metal machines that made the loud noises that made heads explode were always bad. No one could be both.

Mattie still led him by the hand as they raced through the allies of their home, despite that he'd regained himself enough to run without a guide. That didn't stop his other from holding his hand in a death grip.

"W-where are we goin'?" He panted out.

"I 'unno," Mattie replied, "'M followin' Kuma!"

Alfred craned his head to see the little white rat was indeed running not even a foot in front of Mattie, looking just as panicked and confused as they were. Alfred swallowed nervously, gripped Mattie's hand and took the lead.

"W-where are we goin'!" Mattie shrieked as Alfred suddenly began to almost tow him along. He almost couldn't lean down and grab Kuma without being dragged over the ground.

"Out!" Alfred responded.

"We'll ge' lost!"

"But 'e might leave!"

This hopeful thought lodged in his mind, Alfred pulled his brother, crisscrossing, zigging in and out of the allies, their home, slowing just enough to know the man could follow them but dashing around corners so quickly he couldn't raise his machine to make the bang.

They reached the mouth of the ally, a place they'd seen but never ventured too close to. Out of it, they could see people walking by, shops with all sorts of strange things it'd become common truth they'd never possess. They both knew they had only a short bit of time before the man rounded the final corner and saw the way out.

Mattie, who stood beside Alfred, panting, noticed something.

"A-Al?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Where'd we 'ide?"

Al paled and the man rounded the corner.

With a sudden movement, Al slammed Mattie behind him and against the wall in an attempt to hide or at least somewhat protect him. The blood of the lady was still on his face, and he shuddered. The man still clutched the machine in his hand.

The man turned to stare at them, but did not raise it. Al took a deep breath and tried to hide the odd accent that had popped up from conversing only with Mattie and Kuma for who-knew how long.

"H-here's how you get out," He said slowly. The man simply stared at him. Behind him, he could feel Mattie shaking, and Kuma climbed onto his shoulder and cleaned some of the blood off his cheek. "S-so don't…" What was it called? "sh-shoot us."

The man blinked and seemed to realize he was holding the machine for the first time, glanced at the exit and hastily shoved it somewhere in his clothes. Alfred held his breath and waited to see if the man would simply walk by and leave them be or if he was one of the ones who passed by who simply couldn't stand things like them.

"Er," The man said, and Alfred braced himself to grab Mattie from behind him and flee, "thank you."

Alfred blinked and turned his head to Kuma and partway to Mattie.

Oh yes, he was stumped.

"'Scuse m'?" He asked before he could even think of taming his accent.

"Pardon?" The man asked, looking equally stumped at his accent before seeming to have some sort of realization. "Ah, the gun, yes, sorry. I probably shouldn't have… with you right there… slightly shocking… indeed."

Al turned to Kuma and Mattie again. "Yeah, 'm stumped," Mattie shrugged and gave him a helpless look, as he had no idea what they were supposed to do either.

He squeezed Alfred's hand and they waited for the man to make the first move.

The man looked incredibly uncomfortable with them, for some reason, and it was not soothing their nerves at all. He took several steps towards them slowly, the machine nowhere to be seen.

Alfred stood stock still, arms spread to protect Mattie as the man came closer. Kuma squeaked and hid behind him again.

Either the man had very noisy footsteps or something inside him was pounding very loudly.

Finally, the man was only a couple feet away from them, and he was so tall Alfred couldn't help but shrink down slightly, completely ignoring Mattie's small hiss of "Al, you're crushing me!"

The height and intimidating presence lessened quite suddenly, as the man had bent down, onto his knees, bringing him almost below their level.

He held out a hand and Alfred tried not to flinch at it, waiting for a blow and was halfway stunned when none came.

"I'm Arthur," The man said, "Now, could you tell me your names and what are two kids doing out here with no one to take care of them?"

000

Somehow, a purely innocent question had landed Arthur with two street kids clinging onto him (_where in the world did all that near-petrified shyness go?_) as he brought them to his apartment for a decent meal. In his defense, it looked like they hadn't had one for years and were about to tumble over dead where they stood.

He wondered very much just how long they had been hiding in that alley, as almost everything seemed to startle them. He was surprised there hadn't been a huge scene when he first tried to get the children into his car— he was frankly amazed they hadn't fainted when he'd turned it on and begun driving.

When they'd just sat in the back seat practically glued to each other, Arthur felt the need to crack a rather pathetic joke.

"You realize you're driving away in a car with a man you hardly know, correct?" He started. "Didn't your mother teach you better?"

"Who?"

That put an end to any bad jokes he had been thinking of, and Arthur drove to his apartment in silence, occasionally glancing back to see the children gazing out the windows like they'd seen nothing like a city before.

He took the stairs up when they reached his current hotel room, five floors up, simply because after the car ride, Arthur wasn't quite sure how they'd react to an elevator. Well, that and there'd likely be less people on the stairs.

The followed him, almost glued to the back of his legs, until he finally reached his temporary lodgings and opened the door. The two children filed in after him, warily looking around with wide eyes.

There was a squeak and the rat made a reappearance. Arthur stared at it a moment, realizing that whether he'd be here long or not, he didn't want a rat in his temporary home.

"Wouldn't you rather leave the rat outside?" He asked one of the boys who was holding the white thing. Both of them quite suddenly shifted their wary gaze on him, as though he'd said some vial swear. Were they already forgetting he'd been perfectly courteous to them thus far and hadn't so much as twitched in a way that might lose someone's trust?

Ah, it must've been the rat remark. Who the hell got attached to a _rat?_

"Er… of course, you don't have to."

They seemed to relax, but still regarded him with much more suspicion than he'd seen on the way over.

So it _was_ the rat.

Not trusting himself to speak just yet without destroying the fragile trust he'd managed to hold onto with the boys, Arthur turned and made his way to the kitchen. He wasn't quite comfortable leaving the boys alone long enough for him to cook an actual meal, so the two would have to deal with some reheated leftovers from a restaurant he'd visited the other night.

Looking into his refrigerator, he searched for anything light enough for the two to eat without causing them to throw up. He wasn't sure how long it had been since they'd eaten, but they looked thin enough that he knew it would be unwise to give them a heavy meal.

A sudden thought hit him as he pulled out a decent bowl of broth soup and set to heating it up.

Was he going to give them a meal, drive them back to that alley and just leave them?

That seemed rather… pointless and anticlimactic were the words he was going for, he believed.

A bell sounded the broth finishing heating up, so Arthur slipped on oven mitts and poured them into two bowls and set them on the table before walking out to see if the two boys had run off or stolen from his apartment yet. When he returned to the main room, it turned out that they hadn't, much to Arthur's surprise, but were standing where he had left them and looking around anxiously. He didn't even have to call for them before they bolted over and glued themselves to him again.

Apparently a few minutes of being alone in an unfamiliar place was too much for them; he'd have to keep that in mind.

He somehow managed to communicate to them that they were to sit in the chairs and eat some broth— though one of them, the one with the many bruises and woman's blood on his face, burnt his tongue. After that it took five minutes to convince them they merely had to blow on it to cool it down. And then they'd tried to lap it up instead of using spoons.

Arthur was near appalled. Anticlimactic or not, they weren't staying with _him._

An orphanage. There had to be one nearby, he'd just drop them off in the morning after they'd gotten cleaned up and rested. There must have been an inch of dirt on their faces each.

He watched them eat, and was frankly surprised at how slowly they were sipping off the spoons. Arthur was quite sure if he hadn't eaten in long enough to look so thin, he would have been shoveling down anything in front of him.

It was then he realized that both the children were sacrificing eating quickly to watch him.

They were looking at him through their hair, which was rather long and shaggy, coming almost close to blond dreadlocks. Arthur wouldn't have noticed the blue eyes that peered out, sneakily watching him, if the boy with the bruised and bloodied face hadn't accidentally inclined his head just enough to allow Arthur to see his face for a brief instant and find the eyes perfectly focused on him. Wary, unwavering like a nervous animal.

For this, he couldn't exactly blame them. In fact, he was rather relieved that, despite that the children had been daft-brained enough to follow an utter stranger into his home and eat food he'd given them, they were at least sensible enough to remain somewhat alert for a physical assault.

There was a small squeak and the rat was licking some of the broth off the other boy's hand. Arthur made a face. _Charming. _

He cleared his throat rather loudly. Both the boy's attentions were instantly fully on him, their shoulders tensed, ready to spring away at the slightest movement.

So, where had that adhesive clinginess gone?

"As I said before, my name is Arthur," Arthur said, "Now, do you two have names and can you tell me them? I'd rather not have to call you Thing 1 and Thing 2," He again tried to make a bad joke, and if the shared look between the boys was enough to go on, they had absolutely no idea who Dr. Seuss was.

Wow, they _had_ been in those allies for a long time.

The first boy with the bruised face and blood splattered on his face licked his lips nervously and shared another glance with the other before speaking in a surprisingly loud voice. "…'M Alfred. He's Mattie and Kuma."

Arthur blinked. Huh. Well, he was rather impressed they actually had names. If he were feeling a little less tactful he might've asked them if they were named or had made those up themselves.

"Fine names," He said once he was sure he wouldn't say something else that would have been insulting to all of them. He turned to the other boy, who appeared considerably healthier than Alfred. "Is it Mattie as in Matthew?"

Mattie stiffened as he was addressed, looked to the rat as though it would give him advice on how to answer and finally came up with nothing more affirming than a shrug.

"You won't mind if I call you that, then, I suppose?" The boy gave another hurried shrug, looking desperately at the other, who shrugged as well. Both looked utterly bemused, as though he'd passed all the knowledge they held of Basic English. "…you do understand what I'm saying, don't you?"

"Yeh," Alfred confirmed. Arthur took in a deep breath and decided he might as well just stop talking if it was going to cause so many awkward pauses.

"Alright, you can stop staring at me like I'm some sort of… bloody alien," He could have sworn Matthew giggled and looked at Alfred, "Keep eating. I'll get you some new clothes and a washrag."

He turned and left the room, and as he did, was absolutely certain he heard one of the two let out a soft "What's a washrag?"

000

Alfred found out what a washrag was and decided quickly he didn't like it all that much. He hadn't taken his clothes off in a very long time and it had never been with the help of someone else with a hot cloth trying to burn his face off.

"Stop wiggling," Arthur kept telling him while holding onto his wrists with one hand and rubbing the hot, wet cloth over his face at the same time, "I'm just trying to clean you up."

Alfred wasn't quite sure what cleaning him off was supposed to do, but he didn't like it. He turned his head and saw Mattie pressed up against the big, bulky piece of hard cloth (Arthur had told him to wait on it while he tried to clean Alfred off. He'd called it a couch) watching with wide eyes as Arthur and he struggled. This time though, he made no move to help Alfred.

Alfred couldn't blame him, even though _Alfred_ would certainly have tried to do something if Mattie were in his position. But both of them had seen Arthur take the metal head-exploding thing out of his clothes and set it not too far away from where they were now.

In some sick irony, Arthur was at that moment scrubbing the remnants of that metal _thing_ off his face. Alfred had never scrubbed anything off his face before, merely wiping or smearing it with his sleeve.

It was as though his face were coming off on the hot cloth that was rapidly turning brown as his face got progressively whiter, though Alfred couldn't see it.

Mattie certainly could see Alfred's face becoming lighter and lighter. It was like watching something he'd known for years suddenly melt in front of him. Alfred was undoubtedly not enjoying it, tugging on Arthur's grip savagely and saying bad things so quickly that even Mattie was having a bit of trouble understanding him. He couldn't imagine Arthur recognizing a single word out of the mess. It wasn't putting the man from the outside off, though.

It was then the man attempted to undress Alfred, pulling off his jacket and shirt in swift, jerky movements. "For christssake, if you'd just cooperate, this would be a lot more pleasant for both of us!" He snarled.

Alfred thrashed a bit more and Mattie desperately wanted to run over to him and help him out of the man's grip, but every time he worked up the courage, he caught a glimpse of the metal object behind them on a small table and found himself unable to move.

Alfred's coat and shirt came off and the man stopped trying to scrub at his face and instead scrubbed off the layer of muck that had built up on the boy's chest and back.

The cloth was disgusting by the time Arthur stopped. Alfred flopped out of his grip and scurried over to Mattie and clung to him, shivering from the unfamiliar dampness on his skin. Arthur tossed him a large, white shirt and it landed on Alfred's head. He wrapped it around himself like a blanket until Arthur stood up and slid it over his head.

"My clothes are too big for you, but they're better than those rags, at least," The man mumbled as he buttoned up the front. The sleeves came over Alfred's hands and the shirt ended far below Alfred's waist, but he snuggled into it anyway, trying to warm himself up. Arthur turned to Mattie.

"Tell me you'll cooperate better than he did," Mattie nodded quickly. Alfred glared at the man. "Good, now, come over, please?"

Mattie gave Alfred's hand (covered entirely by the sleeve) a quick squeeze and a frightened look before getting up and following Arthur.

Needless to say, Mattie's scrub was a bit more enjoyable than Alfred's had been, as Arthur didn't have the need to protect his crotch from flailing fists or worry about the water bowl splashing all over him again. Enjoyable might not have been the right word, but he fought the man's scrubbing much less. It wasn't because Mattie trusted the man, far from it.

He just didn't want to get on the bad side of that gun. The first washrag that had been used on Alfred had small red splotches on it to remind him of that.

A shirt was pulled over his head and his pants were pulled down (Arthur let out a groan and mumbled something about 'needs boxers', whatever those were) and a fresh pair replaced them.

They were ushered into a room the man muttering 'goodnight.' They had never heard the two words put together in such a way, but before they could ask what he meant by it, the door was shut behind them.

000

"Hello? Yes, this is, er, Timothy Berns. I found two children, can you…. Oh, you're full? Well, thanks anyway. Yes, goodnight."

"Hello, this is Gregory Timms, I recently found two children and I was wondering if… ah, you're full? Right, thanks for your time. Goodnight."

"Hello, this is Oliver Greggs, I have two children… let me guess, you're full? Oh, oh, you're not? … The Black Plague? _Really?_ Well, good luck dealing with that, good night."

Arthur hung up the phone. "Fuck, I'm out of aliases _and_ phone numbers…"

000

The next morning, Arthur opened the doors to the room he'd haphazardly shoved the children into last night and found one of them awake and the other asleep. The sleeping one was curled up on the carpet with the rat while the awake one loomed over both of them, immediately shaking them awake when Arthur opened the door.

They were still filthy. Filthy children with unruly long hair and wearing his clothes that draped off their bodies like dresses. How could his life become so stressful in a matter of hours?

Oooh, the others were going to have a field day when they found out. There was nothing more infuriating than having both Ivan _and_ Feliks laughing at you for something.

He looked at the children, now sitting bolt up and alert, staring at him as though he were some sort of strange, deranged monster.

"Stop it," Arthur snapped, "And get up," They did, apparently realizing he hadn't gotten nearly his desired sleep level last night.

Arthur turned to leave the room and start breakfast. Instead, he walked into the doorframe.

The two behind him giggled as he swore and held his nose. In a cinematic, sweeping gesture, Arthur turned and glared at them. They shut up immediately. He turned away again and marched forward.

"Fuck it," He groaned, turning and making it past the doorframe this time. "I'm ordering Chinese."

000

Two days later, he made for his home base, sneaking the children into his section of the building and telling them they were under no circumstance to come out of his private area.

This was all a vain, obvious attempt to keep the children hidden until he could find a different home for them. If this dragged on for too long, he would simply place them in an orphanage and be done with it.

"Arthur?" They had begun to trust him much more, at least.

"Yes, er…" Arthur turned to one of the two. He couldn't see a rat, but that didn't mean it wasn't hiding.

"'M Al," Alfred said. Arthur nodded.

"Of course you are. I knew that," Alfred made a face, "A-anyway, what was it you wanted?"

"Can you order th' food t'night?"

"Why?" Arthur snapped, instantly on the defensive now that food had been brought up. "Why, what's wrong with my cooking?"

Alfred looked at him confusedly. "…it's bad?"

Arthur smacked himself. He needed to find an orphanage or foster care that would take them fast.

Until the end of the month, that was how long he'd let them stay. After that, fuck it.

He had work to do.

_Next Time on RAMAFIA:__  
Er, well, Hello. I'm Arthur Kirkland and I suppose I should say it's an honor introducing this series (despite how utterly pointless and foolish it may turn out to be…) Back to point, taking care of near-retar— I mean, special— children and trying to keep a working job turns out to be a bit harder than I thought, so I'm going to attempt to take a break… Oooh, now there's a fine pair of legs… what do you mean they're French?_

…**hey. So, after a bit of motivation YTing, I decided to, as Art says, "f'ck it" and post this.**

So yes. I'm officially declaring my jump onto the HetaBus.

**Warnings about this fic:  
It will have minor sexual content, gender bending, MINOR yaoi, MINOR het (Christ, people, you know I don't like romance stories, stop worrying! ) violence, descriptions of young children being badly injured, sad backstories and my attempts to make stuff up about the mafia, because I know virtually nothing about them and **_**I'm not dumb enough to google the mafia, got it?**_**  
**

**It's meant to be read sort of like a TV show, but if those top and bottom parts annoy you, just skip them. It's not like they're important, after all.**

**I'm not sure when the next chapters will come out. I'll try to update once a month or something. Get on a schedule and all… it might help. I have ch 2 mostly written out already, but it might take me a bit to fill in the rest of the gaps, so please, be don't let your patience (or lack there-of) kill me D8  
**

'**Gnome hasn't proof-read the entire thing yet. Any problems are because she couldn't help me write it.  
**

…**also, **

**I'm going to finish CoinBoy. If none of the other DGM fanfics are going to be finished, _I'm going to at least finish that one._ I SWEAR IT BY LEVIRRIER'S HITLERSTACHE. **

**[EDIT/] 'Gnome's A/N is now up.  
'Gnome:**

Hey, 'Gnome here. I am the co-author of this story so I hope you lot enjoy it! This one has been in the works for a while so it's nice to finally have it published. You won't be recieving any guarantees about when this will be updated from me, but I think the second chapter is not too far in the future. I'm proof reading, citiquing and co-writing and fast as I can (otherwise known as slow), but please blame Draw for long periods of nothing because I would much prefer to sit back with my cup of tea and laugh at her misfortune. One last thing, thank ME for getting Draw into Hetalia. It was my doing. One more one last thing, if there are any words such as "colour" or "favourite" that are missing their u's I am gravely sorry, I have a hard time correcting Draw's American spelling

Akky/Draw:  
F U 'Gnome D8

**Characters © Hetalia: Axis Powers  
Plot © Gnome&Draw**


	2. Episode 2: The Prostitute

Episode 2: The Prostitute  
(episode summary: Arthur, stressed after a long day of work and trying to incorporate two children and a rat into his life, hires a prostitute. When a bullet meant for him hits her instead, Arthur finds himself being a good Samaritan again; genre: action/drama/comedy/romance status: new )

_When I was ten, my mother fled from her pimp. She took me away from my homeland, what used to be known as France, to the former l'Etas-Unis._

_When I was thirteen, she caught an STD and I dropped out of school to work illegally as a waitress and gave hand jobs and blowjobs in the back of the kitchen._

_When I was fifteen, the STD killed her._

_One week later, I took her place on the streets._

The alarm was always far too loud. Groaning, she felt around for the small clock in the metal headboard. Giving up, she beat on the headboard until the ringing stopped and let out a relieved sigh.

Sitting up slowly, she rubbed her eyes and hit the headboard once more.

The lights in her room flickered on. God, she needed a new headboard if she had to beat it so often to make it do the things it should be able to do automatically. With another huff, she turned to look at the clock on the wall, which was wired to the one in the headboard, supposedly making them more reliable.

Her jaw dropped and she let out a loud swear while tumbling out of bed to brush her hair and pull it back into a tight pony tail, wash her face and get dressed before applying cheap makeup.

Eyeliner. Blush. Lipstick. Light eye shadow. Fake beauty mark (which always stung to put on but brought in more people than she cared to admit).

She flattened her skirt and made sure her skin-tight top wasn't wrinkling. She checked her shoes to make sure she could run in them without twisting an ankle should the need arise.

Grabbing her fashionable and slightly large black handbag, she raced out the door and into the elevator of her apartment, because when you live on floor fifteen, you just don't take the stairs.

"Frances, you slept in," called the man behind the desk. He had messy brown hair, matching eyes and a wide grin across his face. Frances plastered a suitable puckered smile on her own as she strutted across the room.

"Mmh-hmm, my headboard doesn't like me," she said, sliding onto the desk. The man behind it chuckled and reached out unashamedly to stroke her exposed thigh.

"Well, I can't fix it for free," he said with the same wide grin. He might've worn it all the time for all she knew. He always wore it when he caught sight of her, at least. She let out a soft breath and spread her legs a bit wider, allowing him to slid his hand under her skirt. "So you'll have to help me out with that."

"Ah… I think I'll come up with some payment…" she said, leaning a bit closer to him, "_After_ you install it, of course," and she promptly snapped her legs shut on his hand, which had been fiddling with her black satin panties.

The deskman groaned. "Come on, Franny…"

Frances slid off the desk and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. "Headboard first, and you get my attention _all night_," she promised before turning, wagging her ass temptingly and swinging it out the door.

The hotel doors swung closed behind her. She held her handbag closer and scanned the streets critically, deciding to forego food, having slept in and knowing her money set aside for rent needed some replenishing.

She turned left and walked down the street to a portion of road she hadn't visited in a while, keeping her brisk pace until she found a spot near a street light that probably wouldn't have many cops coming by.

Soon, she was walking down the street with an arm looped around her waist, playing with the fringe of her skirt.

He called himself Walter and she called herself 'Sugar' and her hip slid against his as they walked. His hand found itself firmly on her ass.

They slipped into a hotel, one Frances had visited many times until the desk man simply handed her a key and told her to pay when she left.

They went to the assigned room.

And Frances whored.

000

Arthur Kirkland had officially decided that taking in two children off the street who couldn't even read or write had to be one of the stupidest and most costly things he'd done.

Who knew finding a willing adoptive family was so difficult? If he couldn't find one by the end of the year, he was just dumping them in an orphanage. It wasn't like he was dropping them on the streets again or something; they'd have perfectly adequate food and clothing at an orphanage.

Those pedophilia rumors were probably just some bitter staff member who'd gotten laid off.

With a sigh, he swerved the car pulled out a pistol and shot two people in the cars that had been following him for the past eighteen blocks. Several people on the streets screamed and covered their heads as though he was some mindless killer who'd take them out next. He took three left turns and a sudden right and was away from incrimination already.

God, kids made life far too exciting. He utterly despised going to the grocery and buying pre-made meals every day because for some reason they just wouldn't stomach _his_. He'd survived his own cooking for years and they suddenly came along and said it was bad? Preposterous! They'd probably lived off… off… garbage!

**…**

That thought made him physically wince and he decided he might as well just give them their choice of what to eat if it meant so much to them. Goddamn kids.

He wasn't having the best day he'd ever had, that was for sure. Three assassinations in one day took a bit out of him, not to mention _children _took more out of him than he'd ever thought possible. Always asked to be held and if he was happy, if he wanted some help, can I wear that hat, what's this button do, what does 'fuckers' mean, and can Kuma eat at the table, Arthur? Because he's a person too!

Arthur needed something to let his stress out on.

_Now_, damnit.

000

Frances waited until he'd fallen asleep— because men got _exhausted _after sex and she could do it _all night_— before slipping back into the hotel room with the key she'd slipped off the bedside table. The man, Walter, had paid her before falling asleep and probably thought she was long gone by now.

He was still naked in bed, sleeping like a baby.

Quietly, she made her way across the floor and crouched down to the rumpled pile of his discarded clothes and sorted through them until she found his pants. She checked all the pockets and found what she was searching for in his back pocket.

Frances opened the wallet and snatched out all the metal-leaf cash she could find in it. From the amount she found, though she wouldn't count it until later, she assumed he was probably a wealthy business person.

_He shouldn't mind giving to the destitute, then, should he? _She thought, the smile that raised a million dicks making an appearance on her lips.

She put the money into her handbag, along with the makeup and condoms she made her living with.

Frances left, hips swinging just as before, scanning the streets for her next vict- er, customer.

000

Arthur found his stress relief standing near a streetlight in a skin-tight shirt, miniskirt and with curly golden hair pulled into a ponytail. She had a beauty mark under her eye.

Arthur pulled over his car and rolled down the window. He was not exactly in the prostitute-hiring business and was not entirely sure about what he was doing at all. The prostitute walked forward and leaned on the window frame, from what he could tell, sticking her ass up behind her.

"Er… what are your prices?" Arthur said, hoping that was how you started a conversation with a prostitute but still very unsure.

"Fifty for a handjob, sixty for a blowjob, seventy for sex and anything specific I'll tell you about when you get there," She said with a slight accent and quite possibly the sexiest smile Arthur had ever seen.

He was not repressed, by the way.

"Alright uh, get in?" God, he was horrible at this! The prostitute didn't make any mention of his awkwardness, though, opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. She had long, pale, smooth, and very, very sexy legs.

Once he managed to stop ogling at her skirt line, he realized he could already feel the stress draining away. Or… perhaps that was his blood simply going downward. No matter, he felt better already.

He pulled in to the first hotel he found, which in all truth wasn't the greatest hotel ever and he should've probably been a bit more careful when picking a place to be rather… would unguarded be the right word? It would work, he supposed.

They stepped out of the car, rented a room and went straight there. He would have used a bit more formality usually, but he was rather impatient at the moment. Rather, he wasn't in the mood to worry about first-impressions with a person he'd likely never see again.

'Bunny', she'd called herself. He found this slightly ironic, as he'd stripped his pants rather quickly and found his small remnant of morality comparing himself to a male rabbit.

_Fuck_, he'd thought, and immediately realized he'd made yet another rabbit joke.

Still, rabbit jokes or not, this was going to be a night, he could already tell, as they'd gotten to the bed, he'd gotten down and she'd sat on his lap. She placed his hands on her hips and from there, let him do as he pleased, sliding his hands under her skirt and pulling off her panties (_black satin with lace, _fucking score!)

Arthur was a bit of an ass-and-hips man, though boobs were still important, the fact remained that that skirt would have to go. It went surprisingly easily, as he had virtually no knowledge of women's garments past lingerie.

She had a nice ass to complement the very, very sexy legs.

It was then Bunny cupped his face and turned his head upward, "Hey," she breathed, and Arthur was fairly sure she smelled like mint. "How about I give you a deal?" he was a bit preoccupied by her lower regions, but paid attention, because any deal with an ass like that hadto be good. She opened her mouth (which justi _screamed/i _blowjob, forgive his crudeness. At least to Arthur, it screamed blowjob) to tell him the deal, whatever it was, when the door to the room suddenly burst open.

There was a blur of blue uniforms and black guns before the sound and lights came. Arthur grabbed the prostitute and pulled her in front of himself before rolling off the bed.

The noise was near deafening, but he could hear Bunny scream just before she fell on the floor with a heavy thud. Bits of wall and the curtains fell on them as the bullets flew over their heads.

Without lifting himself from the ground, Arthur slid under the bed and pulled out his own gun. He had avoided being shot by pulling Bunny in front of him and ducking off the bed.

"No one lets me relax. Bloody fucking hell, what's a man gotta do to get a break?" he mumbled angrily, peeking the gun out from under the mattress and pointing it at the nearest police officer he could and fired.

The first one fell to the ground, the other three shifted to look for him, none thinking to look down until another two had fallen and one was left. Arthur was narrowly spared from a bullet through the forehead and shot back before the remaining officer could shoot again.

The officer fell after Arthur had lodged at least three bullets in him. Crawling out from under the bed, the first officer he'd shot gave a groan. Reloading his gun, Arthur put another pullet through his skull.

The room was quite bloody by then.

Arthur let out a sigh and massaged his temples. Opening them again, he scanned the room for any of the police who'd broken in who might've been still alive.

One of them was. A young man with blue eyes and brown hair who was trying to glare up at him, despite the blood slowly gurgling out of his mouth. Arthur supposed he'd punctured the boy's lung.

"Pick a better career path next time," Arthur advised, and raised his gun again. "Or an evening that I'm not so pissed off."

The boy spat something out at him, but Arthur couldn't understand it and frankly didn't care.

_Bang_.

Arthur sighed again and pocketed his gun. He rolled his neck and it cracked. There went his peaceful evening. He'd remembered to give the hotel an alibi, hadn't he? He certainly hoped he had, since he wasn't very good at cleanup, and this room would need a good bit of cleanup.

He turned and noticed Bunny was still on the other side of the bed. Walking over to make sure she wasn't dead as well, he found her splayed out with two bullet wounds in her thigh, one of them dangerously close to an artery.

She wouldn't die from that as long as the bleeding stopped and it didn't get infected, so for a moment, he was bemused as to why her eyes were closed and she wasn't moving. It was then he realized she had fainted.

Arthur looked at the wound again. Of course, it would've been painful, but it shouldn't have induced fainting!

He sighed yet again and decided he must have slammed her head against the floor rather roughly when he pulled them over the bed. All of a sudden, he slapped himself.

A prostitute— _Really, Arthur,_ how moronic can you get?

He supposed he couldn't really just leave her here. That thought came purely out of nowhere and within moments Arthur found himself justifying it, just as he had with the twins.

She'd taken a bullet for him (unintentionally), she was a prostitute (and thus would get the worst of it if a cop found her lying in a room with dead fellow police officers), and she had very, very sexy legs (and it was Arthur's fault there were now bullets lodged in one of those sexy legs).

He reflected he didn't even know her real name. On the other hand, he still couldn't tell Matthew and Alfred apart without the presence of Kuma.

Arthur slapped himself again.

He was being a Good Samaritan. _Again_.

With that thought, he leaned over her and began to lift her injured leg so he could stop the bleeding. That was about as far as he'd thought ahead and honestly had no idea how he was going to get a bleeding prostitute into his car and all the way back to base without anyone calling him out. This was not mentioning people were probably running towards his room because of the multiple gunshots that had sounded minutes ago.

As he moved her head in a better position to lean her leg up, the beauty mark under her eye popped off.

"Holy hell!" escaped him before he could help himself. He started at her for a moment, eyes narrowed.

The focused on her firm, inviting boobs.

"…those had better not be fake, too."

000

Frances woke with an ache in her head, pain like hell in her thigh and on a surface that was unfamiliar.

The last one did not startle her at all, for she was used to waking up in unfamiliar places periodically when she had been too tired to return to the apartment and simply slept with the customer. What she did wonder about was why she was hurting in all the wrong places.

Frances had grown used to the days— rather, nights— of aching in her lower spine and sometimes in her jaw or neck. Her knees or elbows occasionally ached, depending if she had been in a rather straining position the night before.

She'd never woken up with her leg feeling like it was about to fall off or such a bad headache as though she'd been drinking. She didn't even i_like/i_ Bourbon.

Groaning softly, Frances rubbed her eyes and blinked awake wearily. There was a window across from her, which was the first thing she found odd. Not the window per-say, but that there was lightcoming through it, meaning it was daytime, meaning she had either slept through a full day and the following night, or that she'd slept mere hours.

Both of them were ridiculous ideas. She'd have woken up on the streets if she'd slept a full day, and if she'd only slept several hours, she'd be dead-dog tired right then.

Trying to remember what had happened last night, Frances suddenly sat bolt up and almost cried out as a jolt of pain went up her thigh. She held still for a long moment before looking down at the blanket she was covered by and pulling it aside.

A large white bandage with pink stains wrapped around her upper thigh.

Her stomach squirmed and she felt faintly sick.

"Ah, you're up."

Her head snapped over to the voice. A man stood there, the same well-dressed man with a horrid haircut who desperately needed eyebrow wax that she had been about to steal fr—er, service the night before.

"What do you want from me?" She asked immediately, hoping she didn't look or sound too scared.

"I probably should have expected that…" She heard him mumble before speaking to her again, "Nothing, honestly, I just decided letting you bleed out in a room of dead coppers was a bit cruel."

She did not believe him and she let it show on her face. "I don't have any family to pay ransom."

"I'm not holding you for ransom," He said,

"So can I leave?"

"Well, um, no."

"Why not?"

"Because you're shot in the thigh?"

Frances tried not to wince.

"Oh, shiiit!"

"What?" The man asked, arching a rather large eyebrow, "did you really just now notice that?" Frances would have said something rather nasty to that, but instead was in silence as a realization settled on her.

She had to pay rent.

If she survived this man in front of her, she was still short on rent. She might be able to get another month, but what if it wasn't healed by then? How long did it take for gunshot wounds to heal? What if something was permanently damaged?

_How was she going to pay rent like this?_

Not just walking the streets, but sleeping on them, too? How much worse could— _no, no, no_, she was _not_ finishing that thought.

A hand was on her shoulder and her head jolted up to stare straight into the bright green eyes of the man who'd brought her here.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Please, don't hurt me and let me leave," she said, keeping her voice as even as she could. The man removed his hand from her shoulder and took a step back.

"Look, really, I didn't bring you here to rape you or beat you or whatever else you've cooked up."

"You forgot ransom."

"Right, I'm not doing that, either," the man said, crossing his arms with a huff.

"So what are you doing?" she asked, trying to calm herself and believe she might have a lucky night for once. "Surely I'm not here out of the goodness of your heart."

"You sort of are, actually," the man said. "I figured you would rather wake up with me than in an interrogation room. But that was just a thought."

"Alright," Frances swallowed, "so when can I leave?"

"Once you let me change your wrapping and find some crutches."

000

Frances gave the man (who introduced himself as Arthur but neglected a last name) directions to get to her apartment.

"…is this is?" he asked, uncertain as he turned the final corner to where the skyscraper should have been. Where the whole block should have been, really.

Frances looked out the window and gasped. She flung open the car door to run but fell as he injured thigh failed to hold any of her weight.

Arthur scampered out of the car and rushed over to help her up. Lifting her carefully by the shoulders and leaning her against the door, he fished around in the back for the crutches.

There had been a building here at some point in time. That point in time was probably last night, but now it was…

Gone.

Rubble.

_Smoking_ rubble.

Frances snatched the crutches away from him and immediately hobbled over to the nearest person who looked like they might know what had happened, taking literal pains to avoid police officers.

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly, finally making it beside a man in a hardhat.

"Supposedly a gas leak, someone lit a match," the man replied, not hardly looking up from a clipboard in his hand. "There's still a possibility it was arson. A lot of missing people, and so much fucking rubble, goddamnit…"

Frances stopped listening as the man seemed to dissolve into a long list of reasons why he hated his job. A hand was placed on her shoulder and she jumped, sending a surge of pain up her leg.

Stifling another whimper, she turned to find Arthur standing behind her.

No home, no _money_. But she had a mob member who liked her ass. _Goddamnit_.

"Come with me," he said.

Mutely, Frances followed him back to the car. He leaned against the hood and crossed his arms over his chest. "Alright, let's work this out. I have two kids living with me at the moment, I'm trying to find some way to get rid of them," Frances' blood went even colder than it had already been, "so until I find somewhere to dump them, I could use someone looking after them to make sure they don't wreck my place."

She nodded and was sure to avoid looking in his face.

"But I don't want nearly so many people living with me, so the moment your leg heals, you're on your own. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she mumbled. They shook on it.

"Get on in the car," he held the door open for her. She slid in the back and set the crutches beside her. Arthur drove them back to the apartment. Frances covered her face and wiped away the small pricks of tears that threatened to come loose, regretting this already.

But she was a prostitute. Of all people in the world, she knew when there were no other choices.

000

They took the last train to the city Arthur called home. A small one, its only claim to fame being the home of one or two famous chefs.

The two children sat on one side of Arthur, clinging to each other through the whole ride.

None in the four of them spoke but those two, occasionally whispering things to each other in a dialect Frances couldn't for the life of her understand. Every now and then, they would look up at Arthur to ask some obscene question. Sometimes they were more sensible, but not often.

"Are we goin' to your home?" Alfred hissed to him once. She could almost see the strain of taming his accent to the point of being understandable.

"Yes we are," Arthur said monotonously, turning another page in the newspaper. "Do try to not make a scene."

"Are there a lot'a other people at your home?"

"Several."

"Did you save 'em, too?"

Arthur sighed and crinkled his newspaper. "No, Alfred, I assure you. This does not happen very often."

000

Frances sat quietly in the room Arthur had provided for her that night. She was wide awake, as now would be the time her alarm would begin screaming at her to get up. She sat on the edge of her plain, white-sheeted bed and stared out the holographic window at the image of a city she wouldn't walk through for weeks at least.

Was that a bad thing? She wasn't exactly fond of her lifestyle. If she were offered better, there was no way she would turn it down, but it was what she was used to. Prostitution was what she knew.

Frances held back a whimper. She was doing that a lot recently.

She had almost been killed. She had been _shot_— she was alive with a chance of surviving only because a member of the mafia had decided he wanted an _easy lay_.

Frances was not shaking. She was not balling her fists over his hips. She was not staring at the crutches at the edge of her bed.

She was not about to cry.

A knock on her door almost made her jump out of her skin. Her thigh gave a painful jolt and she reached a shaking hand towards her crutches before attempting to get up. "Yes, c-come in?" She called to the door, realizing she could no long answer door in time to be polite.

It cracked open slightly and two sets of fantastically blue eyes and shaggy blond hair stared in at her. Frances relaxed and let a small smile onto her face to greet the two.

"Hey, aren't you two up a little late?"

Alfred led Matthew into the room with a shrug. "No' really," he slid onto her bed with his counterpart. "Arthur's sleepin' 'n we saw your," he snapped his fingers several times, looking for the right word before giving up and pointing at the light bulb above them, "was on."

"So you came to see me?" Frances relaxed back on the bed, wondering how two children had gotten mixed up in something like the mafia. They and Arthur looked and acted far too dissimilar for them to be related, even distantly.

"Yeh," Alfred supplied with a grin. Matthew sat beside him, leaning on his counterpart's shoulder. "Are you gonna be stayin' long?"

"…yes," she said, "For a while, at least. I'll probably be looking after you some while I'm here," Arthur might as well have handed her a huge list of chores. Looking after two half-brain-dead children with minor lack of common sense was hardly going to be easy with only one leg.

Still, they were cute when they smiled at her, Matthew whispering that they were just hoping Arthur wouldn't be cooking anymore below Alfred's boisterous gibberish. Their accent was atrocious.

Still. Cute. You couldn't go wrong with cute.

At least, Frances told herself this just before she saw Alfred reach to his head and scratch madly for a minute or so. Curiously, Frances ignored a bit of his rambling in favor of leaning forward to search his hair.

"…an' 'en 't was all squishy 'n— hey!" Alfred jerked away from her (almost knocking into poor Matthew in the process) just after she caught a glimpse of what she was worried of.

Frances pulled back with a grimace.

Cute. _And_ they had lice.

"You two won't be going to bed for a while, will you?" she asked, trying to get her smile back in place but instead finding herself worrying about anything that may have fallen onto her bed while they had been on it.

"Nope," Alfred replied with a slight hint of suspicion in his tone.

"Good," Frances said, clutching her crutches again and struggling to stand. Matthew leaned forward to help push her up. "If neither of us are going to sleep, let's get those lice off you before they spread."

They pushed themselves off the bed and followed her, none of them quite sure what was going to happen the morning after.

At least, at that moment, it wasn't so important. At the moment, there were others else here who was just as confused and nervous as they were.

_Next time on RAMAFIA:  
__  
Arthur here again. Well, my house is a bit… full at this point. Unfortunately, a couple of my coworkers aren't entirely thrilled at this and are actually a bit angry with me. Ah well, the boss is on my side, isn't she? …She is, right? I mean, I hired and promoted her after all, she'd better be on my side!_

**Draw's A/N**

**Okay, the second chapter's done (the scene with Frances waking up took me **_**forever, **_**thank God that's done with… seriously. Awkward first conversations. I hate them sooo much. And I have way too many more coming.**

**(I was going to wait until I could get on dA to post this, but I'm tired of waiting, damnit, it's been done for weeks D8 )**

**Next chapter we actually have a bit of plot moving, introducing the rest of the mob and a lot of other crap that's taking me a while to write. Oh, and don't kill me about what happens to "Toris", okay? I didn't come up with that. 'Gnome did. It's the reason she wanted me to write this in the first place, I swear it.  
**

**Also: ****Fem!France's canon name is Marianne****, I know, but it's hard for some people to connect the two, so I just changed a letter in Francis' name. Because "Francisca" is just bad.**

**It's also a perfect example of why I normally hate genbending. All you do is add an "a" on the end of the name and go "oh yeah, it's a girl now, durrr!" when there's probably something else you can do to the name to change it. Unless it's a name like… Toris… Where there's not much else you can do...**

**Gnome's A/N**

**Hey, 'Gnome here again. So now we continue to the second chapter full of the exciting things! Exciting things being prostitues and children of course! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it! I don't have much more to say about this one so I'll leave it at this.**


	3. Episode 3: Boss

EPISODE 3: The Boss  
(summary: Arthur meets with the head of his Mob, a BAMPH named Torisa, and explains the strange situation his private life's evolved into by harboring two street children and a prostitute.; genre: action/drama/comedy/romance; status: new )

Feliks Łucaseiwics was not one to swear, but his day had been _shit_.

Ivan Braginski sneered at him as Feliks nursed his wounded integrity while readjusting his clothes after coming out of the bathroom. He'd been in there for a while, sure, but that didn't give the Russ the right to— to assume that he'd been—

(He had, actually, and he hoped to God that Ivan wasn't going to tell Rodda, because she'd go off the cliff if she found out he'd gotten an erection in the middle of a meeting with a person he'd dealt with.)

"You liked him?" Ivan asked, and though his smile was full of naught but utter innocence, Feliks knew he was laughing inside.

"Shut up, Bastardinskis, you see boobs and melt," He snapped.

"Da, but _you_ see an undone zipper and—"

"Shut up," He said again, his face burning red madly, "The guy was _buff_, I can't say 'no' to a six-pack!"

"I am glad you did not say anything, then," Ivan said, that smile still plastered on his face, as it always was. He looked like he was about to burst into laughter remembering Feliks' rather… _strained_ meeting. The poor young man was still embarrassed and blushing, and Ivan' obvious glee was killing any semblance of a good day he might've had.

He'd burnt his breakfast (though not as badly as it'd have been had Arthur cooked), fallen asleep in the shower, consequentially almost drowned and been yelled at by Rodda for being late. At least Torisa had been there to stop that before Rodda blew a lung.

And then he ran off to deal some, and found out Ivan had decided he would be Feliks' partner for the day. While Feliks knew it was just a way for Ivan to put him in an even worse mood than he'd already been the whole day, Ivan had made it seem like he wanted to improve their relationship.

So if Feliks turned Ivan down, it'd make _him_ seem like the reason their relationship was crap, but oh, _Christ_ he hated the (freakishly) tall man! And now that Ivan had seen that, Feliks was sure Ivan would never let him live it down.

This day had been _shit_.

"I really want to kill you right now," Feliks growled. "I swear, if Torisa didn't like you so much…"

"My thoughts are much the same," Ivan then proceeded to call Feliks a name that Feliks couldn't understand for the life of him, because the Russ had either said it in an incredibly thick accent or in another language altogether.

Feliks growled and gave Ivan the nastiest glare he had in his arsenal, complete with barred teeth. "Okay, Bastardinskisi—"

"Oh, you changed it!"

"—if you keep talking, I will _tell on you_," Ivan looked confused for a moment before the expression shifted to horror. "and you will _not have sex_ for at least a _month_."

"You devil!" Ivan said. "Feeeliks!"

His day had just gone from shit to… to… (what rhymed with 'shit'? He couldn't quite think of it, but it was a happy word. )

"I'll do it," Feliks grinned, "You _know_ I will, so either hail me or shut up and _maybe_ I won't."

Ivan wore an expression of the purest horror and disbelief. "…I will tell Rodda you were turned on by buyer."

"She won't believe you," _He had better not tell!_ Feliks shouldn't have been so surprised Ivan was turning his own card against him, but at least he would try and hide how badly that would turn out.

"Oh yes she would," Ivan replied. "After the noodle incident—"

"Hey, no one can prove I did that!"

"—she has been waiting for something to pin on you to give you the chewing out of ever, da?" Ivan was now feeling rather smug at the unnerved look Feliks had clear as day on his face right then.

"…How about this," Feliks said after a while of silence. "We compromise. Neither of us talk for the rest of way home and no one tattles on each other, okay?"

"Da," Ivan replied, seemingly satisfied.

"Good," Feliks confirmed, and they were silent for the rest of the walk to one of the infinite sky-scraping gray buildings that they called home. They walked up a few stairs perfectly calmly until they reached a large, gray door. They burst through it.

"_Torisa_! Ivan's teasing me about being gay!"

"_Rodda_! Feliks got a boner in the middle of job!"

"He's lying, he just wants me to be in trouble!"

"And then he tried to blackmail me into not telling— ow!"

"Take it back, Bastardinskis—Ow, ow, ow!"

000

Rodda borderline hated her associates.

The scene before her of Feliks, a younger man she'd thought perfectly well cultured and polite (only to later be proven dreadfully wrong about) tangled on the floor, attempting to punch Ivan, a seemingly harmless Cossack (also a dreadfully wrong first impression), in the nose.

Feliks was in turn kneed in the crotch, kicked in the ribs, and in retaliation, bit Ivan, pulled his hair and punched him _again_.

"Torisa, your harem is fighting again," She felt it important to inform her personal thorn.

Beside her, yet another coworker she utterly despised made her appearance. And as usual, it did not fail Rodda's expectations.

"For the last time, Rodda, they're not my harem. Ivan's just into S and M, alright?" Torisa said, smiling, as though she were almost enjoying the two fighting yet again.

Painkiller. That was what Rodda needed.

Or maybe just a killer. She had plenty of those. Now might be a good time to use one.

Except that Torisa wasn't to be so much as nicked unless she wanted Ivan to go into a frenzy.

There wasn't much of a hierarchy within their little… association. They were hardly a mob at all, their numbers were so few. More of a gang that actually meant business, but calling themselves a gang would have belittled their actual capabilities. Well, that, and calling themselves a mob sounded much more sophisticated.

Torisa and Ivan had come as a package deal, Rodda and Elizerbet were married, and Arthur had the family name and reputation to pull them together. Feliks had known Torisa from their childhood and jumped at the opportunity to work with her.

Now that she knew him more personally, Rodda mostly tolerated the blond because of the odd ability he had to find the best guns for the lowest price.

Oh, sure, the man had his moments of unadulterated brilliance, but he was more of a nuisance than anything else. Not the foulest nuisance she had known, as most people were nuisances to her, but still a nuisance.

"They'll ruin the carpet," She said, her arms crossed disapprovingly over her chest.

"Oh no, not the carpet," Torisa stepped forward finally and easily pried the two off each other. Both of the men backed off quickly once Torisa had gotten between them, not that that stopped their yelling.

"Torisa, how can you date that ass? He's seriously been calling me a fag all day and I'm totally sick of it," Feliks said, his lips moving faster than anything else at the moment.

"I call him fag because he got boner in middle of trading guns," Ivan interjected, "so is his fault."

"Whose fault for _drawing attention to it?_"

"Guys, guys, calm down," Torisa said, trying to calm them down without raising her voice too high.

Rodda turned and walked out, having had enough of this already. She thought desperately of something to do to distract her from the pure idioticy radiating from the room.

Arthur, she remembered. He'd arrived back late from several jobs in a different city last night, so they permitted him to sleep in a while. It would be dinner in a few hours.

If only to escape a migraine, she would wake him.

000

It was not one of Arthur's best mornings when he woke up to discover that the twins he'd taken in from the streets had apparently gotten their hair cut during the night. Not that they were bad haircuts, in fact, they looked quite good on the two and even made it easier to tell them apart.

The shock was that he hadn't recognized them when he'd first woken up to them hovering over him.

He'd shoved his hand into the boy's face. The child, for Arthur then realized the baby fat had hardly left his face, hit the floor with a thud and a loud whine. "Wh-who the bloody hell are you?"

The boy had sat bolt upright and demanded an explanation for his treatment. Another boy had then come up on the bed as well and asked with the most heartbroken expression and horrible accent Arthur had ever heard "Whadaya mean, y-you remember us, 'ight?"

It was then, when a white rat had appeared in the second boy's arms that recognized them.

They were a tad bit colder to him than they had been before. Apparently, their trust was still very easy to lose.

Again, Arthur didn't mind the haircuts at all. He'd been curious about where they'd gotten then— apparently Frances had decided to make her first night with them worthwhile and de-loused them before deciding that their hair deserved a full work-over.

Still. A little forewarning would've made that go much better, in his opinion.

Climbing wearily out of bed and briefly ruffling his hair into its normal disarray, Arthur shooed the two children off to the side somewhere so that he could get dressed.

"But y' said people weren't allowed t' see us," one of them said. Pulling off one shirt and putting another on, Arthur squinted at them.

"What?"

"There's some'un ou' there," the other twin said. On his shoulder, the rat squeaked, and while part of his mind was registering that the one on the left was probably Matthew, the other part of his mind was going _oh shit_.

Tugging on a pair of pants, he waved frantically for the children to stay in his room. Darting out of his bedroom and into the hallway that connected him to the main part of the building, he opened the door and came face-to-face with none other than one of the associates he'd been particularly hoping to avoid.

"Oh, hello there, Rodda," he said, panting and with possibly the most painful smile he'd ever put on. She took three menacing steps forward, entered his section of the base and saw everything she needed to.

Her dark brown eyes narrowed on the two children peeking over his bed with the strangest sort of acknowledgment.

"Arthur, I regret to inform you that I believe a group meeting is necessary."

000

"How long have they been here?"

"One day," Arthur said, doing his best to not bend under the hard stare Rodda was giving him.

"And how long have they been with you?"

"Er, a week or so?" He found he couldn't quite remember the date that he'd first lured the children out of the alley, but a week sounded about right.

"Are there any other guests we should know about?"

"Well, er…"

Rodda's eyes narrowed. "Well?"

"I picked up this one prostitute after—"

Ivan broke into a fit of giggles. Torisa, at least, tried to cover hers up some.

"Shut up!" Arthur snapped, giving them all his fiercest glare. Only Torisa had the good will to calm herself. "I-It's not what you think, I— the kids might be useful, okay? They could be plants or— or use them as hostages whenever we needed some that wouldn't resist!"

Rodda twitched slightly, "And your prostitute?"

"She can take care of them until I find an orphanage to dump them in."

"And what are you going to do with her after that?"

"Wait until her leg heals and she goes back on the street."

There was the slimmest, most annoyed smile on Rodda's face. "What do you suppose will happen when she leaves and tries to sell us out for as much money as she can make off the location of a mob's main headquarters?"

Arthur scowled and his shoulders rose up defensively. "I blindfolded her when I brought her in."

Rodda didn't even comment that time. "I'm going to go see if we have anything better to do," she said instead, turned, and walked out the door.

Elizerbet shrugged and gave Arthur a pitying look, "Well," he said, "at least she didn't kick them out, right?"

Arthur grumbled something before Elizerbet got up and followed Rodda out as well.

Torisa stood up and patted Arthur on the back. "I'll talk to her about it," she gave him a wink, "Rodda secretly has a soft spot for kids, really."

Ivan giggled in the corner and said something that sounded suspiciously like, "but not whores."

000

Mattie had been in the building a total of one day and already managed to discover all the secret little passageways that allowed him to slide from one side of the building to the other without being seen. He supposed the other people in the building knew about them, too, because they had been covered with bars when he first discovered them. Arthur had called it 'ventilation system'.

Ventilation system was very useful, from the first day out. Alfred wasn't as good at staying quiet like Mattie was, so Al stayed behind in the room Frances was sleeping in, and he would make distractions so no one would notice he was gone while Mattie snuck through ventilation system to see what else was in the building.

He had been worried that there wouldn't be another exit in ventilation system, because as he crawled through he realized it grew darker and darker the farther he went. Kuma scampered head of him, squeaking softly to help guide him until the walls of ventilation system began to lighten so he could see them again.

Mattie resisted cheering as he found another of the barred entrances to ventilation system. The air cleared near it and it was very hard to keep his coughing quiet as he cleared his throat.

Squinting down into the room below him Mattie could vaguely make out several shelves of..

Oh…

Were those _guns_?

"Like, get out of my room!"

Mattie tried his best not to squeal as a voice below him sounded. He clamped a hand over his mouth and listened intently.

"Why?"

Two figures walked into his line of vision. One was short and slim and had the same hair color as he and Al had. The other walked under the vent and Mattie though he could have reached out of the vent and brushed his light hair. There was a long strip of knotted fabric trailing behind the taller man and Mattie wondered how warm that had to be and was instantly jealous of it. The vent was almost as cold as his home behind the dumpster.

"Because, I said so," the short man said and walked out of Mattie's line of vision. "Why are you even, like, here, anyway?"

"I am bored," the tall man replied.

"So you bug me when you're bored. Dude, you must have like, absolutely _no_ life."

"Your room has very… interesting decoration."

"Do _not_ diss the purple, man, that is, like, the color of _Kings_—do _not_ change the subject! Ugh, I don't know how Torisa deals with you…"

"Likewise."

Mattie did not understand a word out of their mouths. He looked at Kuma and the mouse squeaked in equal confusion. They sat there for some more minutes, wondering how they would be able to find their way back to the first entrance to ventilation system as the two below continued to speak.

"Like, I seriously wish I could go to that casino. I'd have the debt taken back in no time," the short one bragged while the tall one took a seat.

"I am sure. You would become so frustrated you would break a small fortune of machines, da?"

The small one threw something across the room at the larger one. Just judging from the clang of metal below, it was large.

"You missed," the big one said.

"Only because Torisa would cry if I busted you!" There was a paused, "Okay, so maybe she wouldn't, but she'd make faces!"

The big one laughed. "Are you saying she would not cry over me?"

"Yes," the other one said, "Now, seriously, like, what are you bugging me for?"

The big one was moving and a chair was pulled under ventilation system's opening. Matt could see half of what was happening now, though he was a bit more preoccupied with finding how to squeeze back through ventilation system to where it led to Al. Kuma had tried to scamper back and Mattie had moved to let him go by and somehow managed to get his thigh stuck.

He was having trouble going backwards now.

"Rodda is getting Torisa and me out of the building so she can yell at Arthur in peace."

Mattie's ears perked up at the sound of Arthur's name.

"Seriously? Dude, she could do that just by, like, suggesting you two have sex. I mean, like, the moment the thought comes into your mind, you— oh no, no, no, no, you are not going to do that right now, nuh-uh, Mister, _I am locking you in here and—_"

"_—and_ I would like my gun back before we leave—"

"—oh, em, gee, I am _so_ going to force Rodda to go with you somehow to make sure you do _not_ do that, that is just, like, _out of line_—"

"—I would prefer to have it to shoot people in faces with, da?"

"—where are you going, anyway, some far off city where I can't, like, hunt you down? That is un_fair!_"

"The casino is in town," the big one replies without so much as pause. "The owner has not paid us back for our help driving the other casino chains out, you see?"

The smaller one was quiet for a while. Mattie finally managed to unstick himself and scampered back through ventilation system's maze, the last of the conversation following up behind him.

"Isn't that, like, owned by that one guy with the funky eyes?"

"Da, Wang. Wang Yao."

"Sounds like someone bit his daddy's thingy while they were naming him."

"That is very, very mean."

That was the last thing Mattie could make out before it faded out.

000

For a while, all he could hear was the pattering of Kuma's feet, the scraping of his hands and knees, and the humming and buzzing from all around the building.

Just when the dust was getting so into his lungs that Mattie was having trouble breathing, a rush of fresher air broke through and he crawled even faster to reach the opening of ventilation system that he'd first entered from.

Kuma raced ahead of him and reached the end a good minute before he did, but when Mattie finally reached the end and poked his head out—

—two arms grabbed him and tugged him down.

"You went through the _vents_?" Frances said.

Mattie was dazed from suddenly being jerked out of the dark, cramped space and pulled into the bright, open space of the room they stayed in. Blinking and looking around, he found Al standing in the corner, facing it. For what reason, he couldn't possibly imagine.

"Al?" he said.

"Al is in time out right now," Frances said, staring at Mattie so fiercely that Mattie shrunk down. "because he wouldn't tell me where you went and it almost gave me a heart attack. What would Arthur have done to me if he found out one of you went missing?"

"I dunno?"

"I don't know either!" Mattie cringed again. Frances was awfully unhappy today, and it scared him. "That's why you two can't go missing or go through the vents without telling me and oh my God you're filthy. He'll be back soon, _merde._"

"Frances?" Mattie squeaked. The woman's attention snapped back on him. "…are you a'ight?"

Frances wobbled on her one leg and quickly set Mattie down, grabbing her crutch and steadying herself. She sighed. "Fine," she said, "I'm fine."

She didn't look fine. It must have been all the new people; they frightened Al and Mattie too. Mattie told Frances as much and she smiled, not very big, but Mattie thought it was close enough.

"So why were you in the vents?" Frances sat on the bed, her shoulders slumped forward. Mattie wondered why they only did that when she was alone with him and Al.

"'Cause," Mattie said. "S' can Al come ou' of the corner?"

Al said, "Yeah!"

Frances said, "No."

So Al stayed.

"Why were you in the vents?" Frances repeated, and Mattie wondered if he hadn't just answered the question.

"'Cause," he said again.

"That's not an answer."

Whoops.

"I wan'ed t' see wha' was in 'ere?" he tried. Frances sighed and looked at him.

"Kids," she said, wobbled to her feet on the crutch, and slowly made her way to where the bars for the vent were lying on the floor. Right where Al had left them while hoisting Mattie in a while before. "I'm going to go gray living here," she bent down slowly and picked it up by her fingertips, because she couldn't go all the way down. She held the cover up to the hole in the wall and after a click, pulled her hand away. The cover stayed on. She turned to the children. "Don't go anywhere without telling me first."

Mattie nodded. Frances looked in the corner. "Alfred."

"_Fine._"

"Better," she turned to walk to the door, "I'll go get you two something to eat. Al, you're not allowed to leave the corner until I come back," Al groaned loudly. Frances walked out and shut the door behind her.

The moment the lock clicked, Al spun around from facing the corner and looked at Mattie. "So?"

"It's really big!" Mattie said, stretching his arms out to try and show Alfred just how large the building. "I 'unno how t' get out."

Al's face fell and he scuffed his bare feet on the floor. "So we're gon't' stay?" he didn't sound all too upset about the idea. "'Ere's food," he said.

Mattie nodded. "'N' it's warm," he added. Al nodded with him. "'N' 'ere's no shit."

"Okay," Alfred said. "We stay."

000

**This chapter's late because my brother died and I think he took half my rib cage with him. **

**Torisa— Toris, Lithuania. You just can't genbend that name.**

**Elizerbet— Elizabeta, Hungary. Was supposed to be a Hungarian name, but I couldn't spell it so I changed it.**

**Rodda— Roderich, Austria. I'm having fun with making OriginallyMale!Roddy's PMS literal. **

**Hetalia © H.H. **

**Original Idea & genbend names © SomethingLikeAGnome**


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